The Fall of the Communion Cloth Caretaker

               Reasons for her stroll down the street from her house two doors up are inconsequential, but answer the question of why Mildred would go to Margaret's front door. 

              She said that, after the heavy rain, she thought the soggy grass and standing puddles might soil her shoes and splatter her stockings if she took the familiar route across back yards to the back door. Therefore, she walked down her driveway, down the street, and walked on the concrete sidewalk that led to three steps and a screen door at her daughter’s front porch.

               The screen door wasn’t locked, so she pulled it toward herself and promptly lost her balance. From the top step, she backed up to navigate the door’s swing, caught her heel on the outside of the step, and ker-plunk. She tumbled right into the boxwood shrubs lining the front porch.  They’d grown from tiny plants and now provided a slight cushion.

               The screen door slammed. Margaret heard something and while she was expecting her mother’s visit, Mildred always came to the back door. The front porch door slamming shut was most likely a result of the wind. Then she heard what sounded like a loud cat mewing, “You-hoo!” but then, the cat called her name, “Margaret!” She hurried to the front porch and looked toward the door. She saw nothing.

               That was when she heard, “Margaret, down here.” The position her mother was in made it impossible for her to free herself from the clutches of the shrubs. Margaret swallowed an aghast laugh and turned it into, “Oh, Mother!” and hurried forward to extract Mildred from the boxwood branches. Stockings torn, arms and legs scratched, nerves shattered, Mildred could barely help in her own rescue.

               Once out of the shrubbery and leaning on the arms and shoulder of Margaret, the duo made their way to the kitchen table where Margaret gingerly placed her mother into a chair. She got a cold cloth for her head, wiped her arms, and patted the scratches on her legs.  Margaret then refreshed the cold cloth, one of the family cure-alls, and left it for her mother to place on her forehead as she sat whimpering and moaning.

Mildred G. Horne, 85th birthday, March 26, 1975

               “Mother, I have to finish getting dressed. I’m going to pour you a glass of wine to settle your nerves.”

               “Oh, no, I don’t drink wine.”

               “You drink Mogen-David, so you can drink this.”

               “The doctor told me to drink just a thimble-full once a day for my heart.”

               “Well, this doctor is telling you to drink this for your nerves.  Just sip on it and I’ll be right back.”

               Margaret left a tumbler of red wine on the table in front of her mother and waited for her to put the glass to her lips, which she did all the while wrinkling up her nose and pursing her lips to suggest how terrible the stuff tasted.  “Just sip on it, Mother.  It’ll calm you down.”

              
The communion-cloth-caretaker of the Camden First Methodist Church was an obedient soul. Margaret swore she was gone less than ten minutes and when she returned, Mildred had finished the tumbler of wine and admitted that she might take "just a thimble-full" more…for her nerves.